Category Archives: Stay on the Battlefield with Rev. Josh Pawelek

I am a bit skittish about posting this piece. While I write about my involvement in legislative advocacy and social justice work quite a bit, it is rare for me to write about actual politicians, parties or political campaigns. I admit I’m fairly partisan in my political views. I lean far to the left and so do most of the people in my various circles. I write about issues and causes that are dear to people on the political left. But I don’t generally write about politicians. So I hope this piece doesn’t feel partisan, for that is not my intent. I’m not trying to make a political statement. I’m making an observation about what it means to offer a pastoral presence in the aftermath of violence. And I just happen to believe President Obama does it remarkably well.

During last winter’s furor over the provision in the federal Affordable Care Act that requires employers to offer health insurance that includes no-cost contraception (even when those employers are religiously affiliated institutions like schools and hospitals), some conservative commentators started referring to President Obama as “Pastor in Chief.” For example, see the Rev. Joshua Gening’s February 28th blog post at First Things. In this instance and others, the phrase “Pastor in Chief” is sarcastic. It’s a negative criticism. It was uttered by people who felt the President was infringing on their religious freedom through the Affordable Care Act. They were not experiencing him as pastoral—not even remotely.

But in the wake of last weekend’s horrific shooting in Aurora, CO, I think “Pastor in Chief” might be an appropriate title for the President who appears to be demonstrating a remarkable pastoral sensibility. I say this primarily in response to the speech he gave after visiting with victims and their families on Sunday. While I don’t claim to be an expert in the art of pastoral care, I am a pastor and I know a few things. When the President said, “Words are inadequate,” he was speaking a truth most pastors know all too well. There is often nothing that can be said in the wake of violence and trauma. In fact, words are usually the least helpful thing a pastor can provide. The best pastoral care comes not through our words, but through our presence. When the President spoke of giving hugs, shedding tears and even sharing laughs he was describing a pastoral presence.

Rachel Naomi Remen says “There is in life a suffering so unspeakable, a vulnerability so extreme that it goes far beyond words, beyond explanations and even beyond healing. In the face of such suffering all we can do is bear witness so no one need suffer alone.”

This statement, for me, begins to name the heart of what it means to be a religious witness. When someone is suffering, let us in the very least not turn away, not move on to the next agenda item, not think of the next thing we need to say. When someone is suffering, let us stay present to their pain; let us keep our focus on what has happened to them. When someone is suffering, let us stay with them, sit by their side, listen to their story, support them, encourage them. When we act as religious witnesses, we make suffering visible so that it cannot be ignored, denied or downplayed by anyone. When we act as religious witnesses we say to those who suffer, “you do not have to endure this alone.” When someone is suffering, in the very least, let us not turn away.

At the Unitarian Universalist Association’s “Justice General Assembly” in Phoenix, Arizona this past June, the language of witness was pervasive. To bear witness was the reason we went to Phoenix. Reminder: the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) holds its General Assembly every June in a different city. We don’t typically get as deeply involved in local or state issues during GA as we did in Phoenix, but Phoenix was different.

Here’s why: In April, 2010 Arizona became the first state in a string of states to pass a harsh, anti-immigration statute, known as SB1070. It gave local and state police unprecedented—and, according to the recent Supreme Court ruling, mostly unconstitutional— powers to enforce immigration law. It essentially made racial profiling legal (though its supporters deny this). When Arizona Governor Jan Brewer signed SB1070 into law, civil and migrant rights organizations in Arizona called for a boycott of the state. At that point, the UUA had to make a decision about whether to go ahead with our GA scheduled to take place in Phoenix in June, 2012. It was a hard decision, but in the end we decided to go to Phoenix, primarily because the civil and migrant rights organizations that were calling for the boycott invited us to come. “But don’t come and conduct business is usual,” they said. “If you’re going to come, come and bear witness to the suffering of Latino and migrant communities in Arizona. Come, bear witness against an inhumane, unjust law. Come, bear witness against abusive, unjust county prisons. Come, bear witness against a blatantly racist sheriff’s department. Come, but don’t turn away from the suffering and injustice taking place in Phoenix. Come, bear witness.

Phoenix is in Maricopa County, whose Sheriff Joe Arpaio is one of the most ruthless anti-immigrant law enforcement officers in the country, and who proudly identifies himself as “America’s toughest Sheriff.”

County residents, especially in the Latino and migrant communities, have complained bitterly about conditions in his jails for decades, especially his infamous Tent City Jail on Durango Street, where prisoners are confined to army surplus canvass tents. The Sheriff himself has measured the temperature in those tents at over 140 degrees on hot days. Those are good days to deny water to prisoners. In 1997 Amnesty International issued a report citing a long list of human rights abuses and condemning the practices at many of the Maricopa County prisons. This past May, the US Department of Justice filed suit against Sheriff Arpaio and the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office, alleging that it discriminates against Latinos, uses excessive force, runs its jail unconstitutionally and has taken illegal action to silence critics.

At the Justice GA we heard from a woman named Isabel Chairez from the Neighborhood Defense Committee (Comites de Defensa del Barrio) of Tonatierra, an indigenous peoples’ cultural organization dedicated to community ecology and self-determination. Tonatierra was one of the organizations with whom we partnered to create Justice GA. Ms. Chairez told her story of being incarcerated at Estrella, Sheriff Arpaio’s jail for women next to Tent City. She said: “Last year, for working to feed my family, I was arrested at my home and my 3-year-old daughter witnessed the police handcuffing me and taking me away. I suffered the horrible conditions at Estrella … where I spent 3 long miserable months. At the time, I was 4 months pregnant and I did not receive adequate care and treatment. We were only fed twice a day … in the morning and late afternoon …. I ate what was given to us; even then I only gained 4 pounds by the time I was six months pregnant.

“I witnessed many ugly things inside that jail. The guards yelled at the women that didn’t speak or understand English. Verbal abuse happened all the time…. In December of 2011, women sued the county for this mistreatment…. One of the hardest things for me was that I was not allowed to walk around when I started feeling uncomfortable with my pregnancy. I was confined to the bed just like all the other women.

“One of my biggest concerns with the arrests, detention, and deportation is how parents are treated like criminals in front of their children. Think of all the children that are being separated from their mothers. My daughter is traumatized from seeing me arrested and taken away. Every time there is a knock on the door, she runs and holds on to me saying ‘Is it the police? I don’t want them to take you away.’”

Rachel Naomi Remen tells us: “There is in life a suffering so unspeakable, a vulnerability so extreme that it goes far beyond words, beyond explanations and even beyond healing. In the face of such suffering all we can do is bear witness so no one need suffer alone.” On Saturday evening, June 23rd, more than 2000 Justice GA attendees boarded busses that took them to the front gates of Sheriff Arpaio’s Tent City Jail. It was a peaceful witness. We did not attempt to block jail access. We did not engage in civil disobedience. We did not confront the Sheriff or his deputies. We did not confront the small band of counter-protestors—a few of them carrying guns—expressing support for the Sheriff. We held candles. We chanted. We sang. Our leaders and our partners spoke about the human rights abuses and suffering taking place inside Tent City. They spoke about the culture of fear and cruelty the Sheriff’s Department has established in the county. They spoke about the backwardness and injustice of SB1070. They spoke about the need for comprehensive national immigration reform that upholds the worth and dignity of all people. This was our witness. More than 2,000 Unitarian Universalists—most of them wearing yellow “Standing on the Side of Love” t-shirts—doing our part to draw national and global attention to suffering and injustice, lending our collective voice and power to our partners in Phoenix, doing our part to “make what is invisible, visible …. what is deniable, undeniable …. what is unseen, seen.”

That night on Durango St. there was no place else in the world I would rather have been. That night I was deeply proud to be a Unitarian Universalist and inspired to be part of movement to end mass incarceration and deportation; to build a more just and loving society.

The next day there was a man on the sidewalk outside the convention center with a sign that read “UUs: What Have You Done?” which I took to mean your presence here in Phoenix has changed nothing. You have accomplished nothing. On one hand he’s right. Justice GA did not end mass incarceration and deportation. It did not shut down Tent City. It did not arrest Arpaio. We left Phoenix much the way we found it, and many communities there still live in fear of the sheriff’s department. Some have asked what good a nonviolent witness does in the face of this kind of power. Don’t we need to take more extreme Measures?

That’s a conversation worth having, but I see three things that happened at Justice GA that the man with the sign didn’t see. First, the historically, racially white Unitarian Universalist congregations in Arizona, and the historically, racially white Unitarian Universalist Association built solid, lasting, accountable, relationships with people of color civil rights and migrant rights organizations on the ground in Arizona: Puente Human Rights Movement, National Day Laborers Organizing Network, Mi Familia Vota, Arizona Worker Rights Center; Arizona Advocacy Network, National Council of La Raza, Somos Arizona, Tonatierra, Tierra y Libertad Organization and more. None of these organizations can achieve its vision of a more just and loving society alone. Relationships are essential. Relationships are the essence of successful movements. This kind of relationship-based participation in a national, multicultural, multilingual, multiracial and antiracist movement for social justice is new for Unitarian Universalists. It marks a level of growth in our faith we could barely imagine a decade ago. Justice GA is over, but the truth is we haven’t left Arizona. We are still there through the power of our relationships. The justice movement our partners started is now stronger.

Second, the man with the sign does not understand that 4,000 UUs came to Phoenix and realized that the kinds of injustices that exist there could happen anywhere. It’s called Arizonafication. 4,000 UUs, myself included, left Phoenix determined to build partnerships and coalitions in our own states, determined to halt Arizonafication in our own states, determined to bear witness to suffering and injustice in our own states. The movement for a more just and loving United States of America just grew stronger.

Finally, the man with the sign missed this: Our yellow t-shirts say “Standing on the Side of Love.” It’s not rhetoric. It’s not a cheap platitude. We really mean it. And while I’m sure Sheriff Arpaio and his deputies, and the counter-protestors with guns, and Governor Jan Brewer are capable of great love—loving their families and friends, loving their jobs, their mission, their state, their country—it is not a loving act to tear a mother from her child in the middle of the night. It is not a loving act to put a prisoner in a tent in the desert where the temperature rises to 140 degrees and then deny that prisoner water. It is not a loving act to confine a pregnant woman to a cot when she needs to walk. It is not a loving act to terrorize whole communities who want nothing more than to live in peace. It is not a loving act to take pride in one’s ability to conduct racial profiling. It is not a loving heart that enjoys mass incarceration and deportation, even if it is legal. When we bear witness to all these atrocities and we say we are standing on the side of love, we mean it. Love matters. A loving heart matters. A loving community matters. A loving nation matters. If you ask me, maybe not now, maybe not next year, but some day, love wins. I believe it. What did we do in Phoenix? We did not turn away. We bore witness to love. It made all the difference.

On the morning of Dec. 8, along with some members of the UUS:E Social Justice/Antiracism Committee, I attended the Jazz Funeral for the Hartford Courant’s janitors, organized by the Hartford Organizing Group.

The Courant is outsourcing its janitorial services. The result is that eight janitors who earn $13.50/hour with decent benefits are losing their jobs and being replaced by eight new janitors earning $8.50/hour with no benefits. The Courant will save about $100,000 annually. That might sound like a lot of money for a struggling newspaper, until one learns that senior Courant staff have received $42,000,000 in bonuses in recent years. I can’t help wondering why $41,900,000 wasn’t sufficient!

Looking at the big economic picture, the Hartford Courant really isn’t a big player. There are greater–and more disturbing– examples of corporate greed causing the disappearance of jobs that mean a lot, especially in poor communities like Hartford. Still, the Courant and its parent, the Tribune Company, could have handled this situation differently. They could have saved these eight moderately decent jobs, instead of “creating” eight new jobs on which nobody can realistically survive, let alone support a family. This is a perfect example of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. This is a perfect example of why the wealth gap is increasing. This is a perfect example of why the 99% are so frustrated and angry.

The Courant could’ve chosen to behave in a civic-minded way. It has the resources to do so. It could’ve chosen to be sensitive to the economic needs of the community in which it is located. It could’ve chosen to behave in a patriotic way, doing its part to maintain viable jobs during challenging economic times. The Courant could’ve chosen to stand by its janitors. But it didn’t. And its choice is symptomatic of what is wrong with our nation. The American corporate community needs a revolution in its value system. The American corporate community needs to learn to hold itself more accountable to workers and their communities.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for solace, comfort and healing for all those who suffer from the ravages of HIV and AIDS—for those living with the virus, for their families, for their communities.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for the healing of broken hearts and for relief from the grief that pains spirits and minds and leads many into despair, wondering about the meaning of life.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for healing from the psychological pain of HIV and AIDS, and from the fear and hopelessness that can lead some to die even before the virus kills.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for an end to the social stigma and discrimination that result in acts of isolation and failure to provide quality care and prevention.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for an end to unhealthy relations that expose partners and spouses to HIV and AIDS infection, and renders some powerless to protect themselves.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for transformation of the poverty that exposes millions to HIV and AIDS. We pray for transformation of exploitative social structures that condemn many to poverty and expose them to infection.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray for transformation of the violence that spreads HIV and AIDS. We pray for transformation of the ethnic and civil wars that enable the spread of the virus. We pray for transformation of domestic violence that enables the sprad of the virus.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray that our own hearts, our own minds, our own spirits may become open, that we may become aware of the impact of HIV and AIDS in our own communities.

Blessed Spirit of Our Lives: We pray that in response to this openness we may become instruments of healing, that we may become instruments of solace and comfort, that we may become instruments of peace, that we may become instruments of transformation.